


the truth behind her flowers

by Bagell



Series: ttbhf [1]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: (fade to black), Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Background Clary Fray/Isabelle Lightwood, Background Isabelle Lightwood/Aline Penhallow/Helen Blackthorn, Background Rebecca Lewis/Isabelle Lightwood (one-sided), Cursing/Profanity, Established Claia, F/F, Flowers, Fluff, Food, Implied Sexual Content, Kids, Kissing, Language of Flowers, Light Angst, Married Claia, Multi, Polyamory, Rivals to Lovers, Trigger/Content Warnings:, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-18 18:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagell/pseuds/Bagell
Summary: Roses for Elaine and Taki Blossoms are two flower shops in a small city. Well, small, but not so small that the only two flower shops would likely end up right across the street from each other.As it is, that's how it happened, and for as long as anyone in the city can remember, the two owners have been bitter enemies. It's impossible to even mention RFE to Maia Roberts, or TB to Rebecca Lewis, without receiving a scathing glare with your order of flowers.There's only one rule for buying flowers in this city: stick to one florist, and one florist only.When one of Maia's friends gets sick of it, getting rid of the rule gets them more than they bargained for.





	the truth behind her flowers

**Author's Note:**

> hi! so, oh my gosh, this is the longest fanfiction i've ever written. woohoo! an immense thank you to the sh wlw fic bingo, bc i've written SO much in these four weeks thanks to y'all. 
> 
> anywho: this fic is for team red for the prompt flower shop au
> 
> i'm definitely not well-versed on flower language, so i'm sorry if there are any mistakes (no beta so all mistakes are mine!). i think i got most of the flowers i chose from these two guides:  
[aggie-horticulture](https://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/archives/parsons/publications/flowers/flowers.html)  
[goldflorist](https://www.goldflorist.com/pages/rose-color-meanings/Purple-Rose-Meaning.html)
> 
> i'm also not well-versed on relationships or polyamory, so if i used any wrong terminology or said something that feels incorrect/offensive/misrepresentative, please feel free to call me out on it if you're comfortable. i'm open to editing and discussion, especially since polyamory is so underrepresented 
> 
> anyway, i hope y'all enjoy this fic! i would really appreciate comments and kudos :) trigger/content warnings below!
> 
> [TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNINGS]  
\- cursing/profanity  
\- implied sexual content (it's pretty fade to black)  
\- food

No one knows how the rivalry started.

Afterall, despite how small the city is, only a few square miles next to the huge tourist spot only a few bus stops over, there is a huge surplus of ice cream shops, cafes, tailors, and even tattoo parlors. Some of them are even right next to each other, and yet, all the owners are civil, all the workers acquaintances if not friends, and all the customers happily switching between each one every few days.

And _ yet _, no one has ever seen the owners of Taki Blossoms and Roses for Elaine talk to each other. Ever. All anyone knows is, if you want to get along with your local florist, it’s best to just stick to one.

The regulars know this well by now, and Maia, owner of Taki Blossoms, and Becky, owner of Roses for Elaine, both have quite of few customers, many they know by name and by which floral arrangement they prefer and by who they’ll likely be buying them for, be it family and loved ones, first dates, or themselves.

Still, all of these customers follow the iron rule and tell their friends to do the same. Stick. To. One. Florist.

People in the town who haven’t bought flowers even _ once _ know this rule. Heck, some people in the big city nearby may even know.

Which is why Maia’s a little miffed on her and her wife Clary’s 64th month-iversary. 

Ever since they first started dating, Clary’s been an excited partner, never missing a single fourth day of the month to buy a gift for Maia even long after they’d been together three years and had gotten married with a toddler. She’s not the only one excited on the fourth though. It hadn’t been hard to draw Maia into her mushy, overly romantic and cheesy habits, and in their wedding vows, they promised the fourth day of every month to each other as they promised their lives and hearts.

So it isn’t a surprise when Clary comes home with a bouquet of flowers that fourth night of April. Maia breathes them in after giving her wife a hug at the door, smile coming easily to her face as she plants a kiss on Clary’s cheek, dark lipstick print leaving a lingering reminder of her lips. Maia brings a hand up, wiping the pigment from her wife’s cheek. “Happy month-iversary, baby,” she says between them and Clary grins, leaning in for a kiss on Maia’s lips this time.

“Gross,” Andre, their 7-year-old protests from the couch. He doesn’t look up from his animal book as he complains loudly, and Maia and Clary chuckle in unison. Maia walks over, pinching him by on his chubby cheek. “Hush, you,” she says. “Come help set the table while your mommy sets her things down.”

Most evenings the table is crowded with more than just the three of them, Clary’s girlfriend Izzy joining or even Izzy’s fiancees Helen and Aline. Those nights are Andre’s favorite, because Isabelle, Helen, and Aline always bring over their triplets, and the Roberts-Fray table (or the Lightwood table, or the Lightwood-Blackthorn-Penhallow table) is always loud those nights, filled with the sounds of Andre, Alex, Jackie, and Lan and their chatter and laughter. More often than not, it’s tiring for the parents to listen to after their long work days but the smiles on their children’s faces make it all worth it. 

The fourth night of the month though, is reserved for just Maia, Clary, and, for two years now, Andre.

They enjoy a nice dinner, forcing Andre to eat his vegetables and then indulging his cry for dessert (well, Maia indulges. Clary cries out with him), walking around the block to the closest ice cream shop. 

It’s not until Andre is in bed and the two wives are cuddled on the couch watching soap operas that the realization hits Maia. 

The flowers are in a vase on the coffee table, and Maia is switching between staring at them and her wife lovingly when her eyes widen and she’s suddenly glaring at the gorgeous blossoms.

“Wait,” she says aloud, head still tucked in the crook of Clary’s neck. Clary turns her chin down as much as she can, looking sleepily down at Maia.

“What?” she asks, confusion being cut off by a wide yawn. It _ is _ getting late, and Maia feels a little bad seeing as Clary might’ve been about to drop off, but this is something she _ must _ address.

“The flowers,” she says.

“Yeah?” Clary says, bemused until suddenly she’s not, and Maia can _ feel _ her wife tense up beneath her chin.

“_ I _ definitely didn’t get an order for this arrangement,” Maia says slowly. “Not that it’s not an incredibly pretty arrangement. It is, and I love you. But the only other flower shop nearby that can do arrangements like this is RFE.” She doesn’t say the full name, _ Roses for Elaine _ , but she doesn’t need to. RFE is a household acronym for the store that shall not be named. “And I _ know _ ,” Maia continues matter-of-factly, still curled up in Clary’s arms under the blanket. “That your artistic skills, wonderful as they are, do not translate to flowers.”

She finally gets a response then, a protesting “Hey!” that Maia lets out a huff of laughter at. 

Clary sighs, adjusting so that she can turn Maia around to face her, still wrapped in each other’s arms, brushing off the protest Maia has at her _ ruining the position because she was _ very _ comfortable, thank you very much. _

“Baby,” she says, once Maia’s fully facing her. “I know how you feel about RFE, _ but _ ,” she continues, looking pointedly at her. “I wanted to get you a gift, and I thought flowers would be nice. Plus, I wanted it to be a surprise, all of it, the specific arrangement not just the flowers themselves. And, loathe to admit, you _ might _ be right with the whole artistic skill but not with flowers thing.”

Maia laughs at that, and takes a long look at her wife’s face. She’s smiling sheepishly, hopefully, and honestly quite fearfully, but more than anything so full of love that Maia has to choke back a gasp, even after all these years. They’re both polyamorous, but Maia hasn’t had much luck with romantic love outside of Clary while Clary’s found Isabelle and maybe even soon Aline, and yet she’s never left this house, never run away from Maia and Andre and all of Maia’s baggage. Heck, she hasn’t even run away or defied the ridiculous RFE rivalry until today, which means a whole _ ton _ to Maia even though she knows Clary’s just as stubborn and petty as she is, if not more. The bottom line is, she’s sitting half on the lap of the woman she’s been with and loved for most of 64 months, and that woman has brought her flowers today and is currently staring lovingly and a little guiltily into Maia’s eyes. So, it doesn’t _ matter _ the circumstances. It’s the fourth, and Clary’s here, with _ flowers _, which is really fucking sweet, and Andre’s in the next room asleep and probably cuddling that huge orange dinosaur plush they got him for his sixth birthday. On the fourth, that’s all that matters. So Maia leans in close, kisses the forming frown and the creases off Clary’s face and cuddles closer, straddling Clary’s hips and burying her face into Clary’s shoulder, ignoring her chuckle.

“I love you,” Maia whispers into Clary’s hair, not that it was ever in question, and the two fall asleep not long after.

-

It’s been a long while since Becky’s heard the name Taki Blossoms. Of course, the other flower shop is right across the street so it’s not like she can avoid it completely, but one good thing that’s come out of the aversion she and TB’s owner have for each other is that all Becky’s customers know never to mention it.

Well, most. All of her regulars know, and most of the newer customers know through friends or find out pretty quickly. Most except, perhaps, Isabelle.

Isabelle, a gorgeous new customer with long ebony hair and the most arresting eyes, has been coming for the past few weeks, every Thursday to order an arrangement in person, and every Friday to come pick it up. It’s safe to say Becky has been… contented (blown away, smitten, entranced) by her presence in the colorful shop, making the stunning woman laugh as she wraps up her flowers and blushing whenever Isabelle sends her a knowing look when she stares just a second too long. She can’t help but wonder who it is Isabelle’s been buying these bouquets for, and if maybe she should give up on her little crush every time Izzy takes the flowers with eager but gentle fingers, gazing down at the flowers beneath her painted nails lovingly.

Still, every Thursday and Friday finds Becky waiting on the edge of her stool behind the counter, darting her eyes to the front windows at every person who passes by, and busying her hands in a flurry of panic when someone walks in. This Thursday, the twelfth day of April, is no different.

Except, time passes, noon goes by, and soon the sun has sunk low enough that it blinds Becky through the windows, shining on the clock behind her indicating that it’s half past three. Isabelle is usually here by two-thirty at the very latest so this is different. Unexpected. Becky tries not to frown as she ties the ribbon on a bundle of daffodils and magenta zinnias, gazing at the door. This day has passed slow as molasses, only slowed further by Isabelle’s tardiness, or by now, it seems, absence. Becky rests her chin on her fist, squishing against her cheek as she leans against the counter and watches the customer leave. Maybe Isabelle was busy today? Or maybe she decided she hates Becky. Or maybe she thought last week’s flowers were ugly. No, that’s impossible, definitely not that one. Maybe she’s been getting flowers for someone she secretly admires and got rejected and is so heartbroken that she’ll never come again. Poor Isabelle. Or maybe she tripped and fell and the flowers flurried into traffic like a murder of crows and got run over by a huge truck and now Isabelle’s so mortified and guilty about the destruction of such beautiful blossoms that she’s writing a collection of seventy-two sonnets to the beauty of nature and the inevitability of mankind to destroy it. No, Isabelle’s too graceful to trip like that and she’s always so careful with the bouquets. Or maybe--

Or maybe she’s right across the street, walking casually into _ fucking Taki Blossoms. _

Becky straightens on the counter, taking her chin off her hand. Okay. It’s fine. Isabelle’s a relatively new customer. But like. Who in this town _ doesn’t _ know about the RFE-TB rivalry? And also, isn’t it just _ disrespectful _ to get to know your florist, flirt with them a bit, and then just _ enter another flower shop? _ That’s like… cheating. Becky stops herself. No, no, she thinks, as she watches Isabelle peruse the flowers in the other shop, making her way to the counter. Isabelle doesn’t owe her anything. Just because they flirted a little with each other and Becky totally liked the other woman, _ doesn’t mean _ that Isabelle has an obligation to continue buying from Roses for Elaine.

…Is it the flowers that put her off? No no, couldn’t be. Becky’s flowers and arrangements are only the best, no one in a hundred mile radius could possibly compare (Becky’s seen the Yelp reviews). Except, maybe, possibly, but probably, most definitely not, Taki Blossoms.

But _ come on! _ Becky’s flowers weren’t _ unsatisfactory, _ were they? No, Isabelle looked so loving and grateful every time she took the week’s new bouquet.

Becky squints. So _ why _ is she going into… _ that _ shop? Becky scoffs as Izzy saunters up to the counter, leaning on it. The owner, probably sitting at the counter, is obscured by the set up they have around the front store windows. See, that. That’s so _ weird. _ Their counter is at the _ side _ of the shop, close to the front and parallel to the side wall. Who _ does _ that, especially for a long counter like they have? Everyone knows to have the counter at the back wall, facing the entrance and framed by rows of bursting flowers. It’s like… a rule. A _ postulate. _

Just as it should be a rule to stick to one florist and one florist only. Fuck, Becky’s worked up over this. She leans forward over the counter in her own shop, gaping as Isabelle throws her head back and laughs, eyes sparkling at the hidden shop owner (Becky knows the person there is the owner because she’s only ever seen that one person open and close up the shop. And sure, they’re… quite cute, at least from far away. They’re still an absolute jerkface though). Not that Becky can actually see Isabelle’s eyes from across the road and two glass windows with the sun’s bright afternoon beams obscuring her vision but she’s seen (mooned over) Isabelle up close enough times to know they _ always _ shine when she laughs.

And now she’s laughing with the owner of _ fucking _ Taki Blossoms. Becky pouts. She really thought she and Isabelle had something special.

Oh well. It’s fine, she’ll get over it. It’s not like it developed into anything yet anyway. Besides, Becky has work. She’s _ at _ work. The door opens, reminding her of that, and she straightens once more on the counter to send a bright, beaming smile to the woman at the door. It’s actually quite easy to, when Becky immediately sees who it is. Dr. Loss, an elderly woman, smiles exhaustedly at her, slowly making her way to the counter as Becky retrieves her usual bouquet. She’s always so tired when she comes in but she hasn’t missed a single day in her bi-weekly orders of bright, gorgeous blossoms for her wife, Dorothea. Becky hasn’t actually met the elusive Dot yet but she’s sure in the familiar smile on Dr. Loss’ face when she speaks of her that the old woman’s wife is just as much a charmer as she is.

And really, from there it’s quite easy to get fully back into work. Really. After all, Becky would be the most awful human to mess up flowers for the kind Dr. Loss and her wife, possibly even more awful than people who are unfaithful to their florists, or owners of flower shops across the street.

…

So, Becky isn’t quite fully focused. Sue her.

But it’s _ fine. _ Who even cares, anyway? She’s actually really busy the rest of the afternoon and early evening, more people shuffling in after their work shifts have ended to peruse the aisles or chatter about arrangements. Becky even gets to talk to Maureen, a friend of her little brother’s and a customer she hasn’t seen around the store in a long while. _ So who’s laughing? _ she thinks as she waves off Maureen with a bright grin. In the back of her mind something tells Becky she looks a little evil right now, brows probably pinched in triumph, but she ignores it. Who _ cares _ that Isabelle is buying from TB? Guess who made more money today (probably)? Roses for Elaine, that’s who. Take _ that, _Taki Blossoms. It’s not her fault, nor does it affect her whatsoever, that Isabelle has no taste.

Even if it makes a little ugly green poof of a feeling inside her ribcage seeing Isabelle laugh her heart out in the other flower shop all the way until she leaves.

Becky lets that little sprout of a feeling simmer, all while she continues bundling flowers and ringing customers up, and until she’s closing up the shop for the night. Her apron’s folded and sat on the shelf under her counter, all the lights are off, and the accumulation of plants inside glow dimly in the sea of dark blues and grays, their pinks and purples and oranges and greens doused by the evening and illuminated in only thin lines and soft glows from the streetlights outside. Becky gently puts her hand on the door after she retracts the key from the locked knob. Busy and crowded and sometimes slow as work is, the shop is so much more than work for her. And while she gets worked up over the store across the street, Becky knows deep down that no rivalry will ever be as important to her as Roses for Elaine itself is. She smiles, blows a kiss to the flowers, tucks the key into her fanny pack, and turns away from the shop.

She’s about to head to her car, already unzipping the other pocket on her fanny pack to fish for the keys, when she notices the light on across the street.

It’s not particularly surprising, because Becky’s long since memorized TB’s schedule, and she knows on Thursday the other owner always stays longer than she does.  
Becky hesitates, looking at the other shop, then to her car, then to her own shop. Across the street, right in front of her, and behind her. Across, front, behind. Over and over and over she darts her eyes, until she makes a decision, one she has no real reason for but Becky has never been called anything but decisive, so she continues anyway. 

Becky’s across the road and opening the door to Taki’s before she knows it, eyebrows and focus raising in surprise at the quiet silver bell tinkling above the door.

She looks around the shop. At first glance, it’s similar to hers, both of course filled to the brim with blossoms of all kinds. But Taki’s is arranged to have aisles criss-crossing between big cubes stacked with flowers, organized by color and species and meaning and a thousand other factors. Becky’s looking around, wide-eyed, about to step forward to brush her fingers along the purple roses in the first cube when she hears a shuffle and someone quietly clearing their throat.

Becky turns sharply, hand knocking against one of the roses in front (one in a pretty shade of lavender) just as her eyes lock on the owner of the store.

And--

Wow.

Oh wow.

Becky and the other florist aren’t standing close by any means (in fact, the other store owner is sitting down behind the counter), but it’s the closest they’ve ever been and definitely the first time they’ve been this close and Becky’s truly _ looked _ at them.

Because they’re, frankly, beautiful.

This could be bad. This could be really, really bad.

-

Maia collapses into Clary with a full groan, turning in her lap until she can fully push the heels of her hands into her eyes, groan only crescendoing and leaping out of her chest full force. Clary, light of her goddamn life, simply coos under her breath in sympathy and combs her fingers through Maia’s hair, scratching her head. Andre’s at Izzy’s tonight, so Maia can just do this, be as much of a baby as she wants. She melts further in Clary’s lap and turns so she can bury her face in her wife’s belly. She starts to say something, then quickly shakes her head, burrowing further and screaming.

Clary is reasonably taken aback by this, but because she’s absolutely amazing she just continues to stroke her hands across Maia’s scalp.

It takes a long few minutes, but finally Maia detaches her face from Clary’s belly, looking up at Clary. Clary moves her hand, caressing Maia’s cheek. “You ready to talk about it?”

Maia sighs. She pouts (something Maia didn’t think she does, but Clary insists she does a _ lot, _ at least around her), then finally speaks. “I hate RFE.”

Clary’s stroking pauses, before she regains her composure and continues. “That’s what this is about? Did something happen at work?”

“Something like that,” Maia says. “You’ll never guess who walked into the shop an hour before closing.”

Clary hums in curiosity, waiting for her wife to continue.

“Rebecca Lewis, owner of Roses for Elaine.”

“You know their name?” Clary says in surprise. 

“Her,” Maia supplies. “And not the point,” Maia says, swatting at her. “But yes, we introduced ourselves for the first time.”

“So? How is she?”

Maia groans out loud again, this time grabbing a throw pillow and pressing it into her own face. Clary waits it out, confused but willing to pretend to be patient and not starving for details like Maia knows she is. 

Instead of directly answering the question, Maia half-reemerges from the pillow to spill. “When she came in she nearly knocked over my purple rose display, and instead of saying something _ smart, _ I asked if she wanted to buy one of the dark purple ones.”

Clary’s eyes widen, and suddenly she’s pitching forward, nearly shoving Maia off her lap. Maia yelps in surprise and betrayal, and glares as Clary squishes her cheeks with a grin. “You asked if she wanted to buy a flower meaning _ lasting love _ upon your _ first meeting? _” Maia whines and tries to shove Clary off her but Clary just continues, undeterred. “Whatever happened to your code of ‘don’t pry before the customer asks for something, they could be buying for a funeral or a break up and that would be intrusive’,” she pitches her voice deeper at the last part, imitating Maia.

“It’s a good rule!” Maia insists, finally prying her wife’s hands off her cheeks. “That way they don’t have to share anything they don’t want to and I don’t have to endure an unnecessary conversation I’m unprepared for!”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” Clary says, nodding. “So whatever happened to that rule, huh?”  
Maia looks down. “I mean, it’s not like I _ said, _ ‘hey do you wanna buy a flower that means lasting love?’ I just asked if she was interested in the dark purple roses,” she corrects, but her voice goes up at the last sentence, like it’s a question.

Clary stares at her. “It’s _ basically _ the same thing, considering she’s also a florist and definitely knows the meaning.” She continues, not missing a beat. “Also wait, did you ask if she wanted to _ buy _ the flowers, or if she was _ interested _ in the flowers?”

Maia blushes then, sudden and dark. “... Interested,” she mutters finally.

“Oh my _ god, _ ” Clary says. “You asked your _ sworn enemy-- _”

“She’s not my ‘sworn enemy’ that’s so dramatic--”

“--_ Your words, not mine, _ ” Clary insists. She clears her throat. “Honey, you asked your sworn nemesis upon _ first _ meeting her, if she was interested in _ lasting love? _”

Maia explodes then, hands coming up in wild gestures to defend herself. “Okay, they’re just some fucking flowers!”

Clary nods seriously. “Yeah, and you’re just _ some florist _ who doesn’t give half a shit about _ fucking flowers. _”

Maia kisses her then, swallowing the laugh that bubbles past her lips before pulling away. They’re horizontal now, Clary lying back on the couch, pushed over by the force of Maia earlier, and grinning up at her. “You know,” she starts. “Just because I adore your kisses doesn’t mean I’m gonna shut up about this.”

Maia smirks, ignoring most of her sentence and moving her hand up Clary’s side. She leans down, nosing around her neck and breathing in Clary’s contented sigh. “We have the house to ourselves tonight, right?” Maia whispers, and feels Clary’s happy, surprised shiver. “Should probably make the most of it.”

Clary pulls her in then, humming against her lips and rocking against Maia’s body. Maia sighs, feeling the tiny amount of lingering tension melt away and relaxing fully down onto her wife. “Don’t think,” Clary murmurs. “This gets you out,” she sighs then hums into the press of Maia’s hips against hers. “Of this conversation,” she finishes, between kisses on her wife’s lips.

So truly, what can Maia do except kiss her again, more fully, and work on making her forget?

-

Becky’s cheeks start burning almost before she sees who’s just stepped into Roses. Because here she is, bane of Becky’s existence, for newer reasons since last Thursday. Maia Roberts, owner of Taki Blossoms, stepping casually into Roses for Elaine, which should be enemy territory for her.

Not that Becky can talk, considering she walked into Taki Blossoms just the week before.

Still embarrassed about that whole encounter, Becky just nods to Maia and gets back to shuffling through the packets of seeds she was sorting before Maia walked in. Usually, she’d at least try to make conversation with the customer but, well… she’s no ordinary customer, is she?

Becky pretends she isn’t watching Maia make her way to the back of the store. She walks so slowly and out of depth, and it’s such a contrast to the way Maia holds herself, confident and apologetic. Wait, is Becky making her _ nervous? _

She suddenly laughs out loud at that, surprised at the thought and the possible truth behind it, and Maia almost recoils in surprise.

“What’re you laughing at?” Maia says, breaking the strange lack of words between them, speaking between them for the first time since Thursday.

“You,” Becky answers, before she can stop herself, and she laughs again nervously at how wrong that sounded before collecting herself enough to speak. “Not, not _ at _ you,” she says quickly. “Just, you look so nervous in here. It’s just flowers and me, and neither are very scary, I can assure you.”

Maia smiles at that, not a full smile but a little quirk of her lips (pretty lips, a slightly darker shade than Thursday’s) and a lowering of her eyebrows. “Says you,” she responds. “You looked like a deer in headlights in my shop last week.”

Becky sniffs. “I was simply being cautious in enemy territory.”

Maia’s smirk widens, almost into a smile. “I’m sure,” she says, but it’s under her breath, almost to herself. She turns then, to the row of bursting flowers next to her. Her hand trails a bit, before settling on one. Her eyes flicker to Becky’s just for a second before she picks it up. Still nervous, like she’s hiding the deliberateness of her choice. She walks over to the counter and lays it down, hand still laid softly over it. Her nails are pink and pearly, matching the wide petals of the flower. Becky looks up at her, and they match the earrings hidden behind her curls too. Distantly, Becky thinks she might be looking too long, too focused, so she darts her eyes to the flower and goes to pick it up, stopping only when Maia’s hand doesn’t move from it.

“Pink camellia,” she says instead, and looks back at Maia. “So who is my nemesis longing for?”

Maia’s eyes widen just a bit, accompanied by the way her eyebrows shoot up the tiniest amount, and whether it’s at Becky calling out her choice so blatantly or the title, Becky doesn’t know.

Then, she laughs, a cute little snort, and Becky finds herself smiling in almost… awe, before she can stop herself.

“I can’t believe you just called me your nemesis,” Maia says, and before Becky can defend herself, Maia’s shaking her head, shoulders swaying and lips pulled up as she continues. “My wife always makes fun of me for referring to you as that, so it’s nice to know my choice of vocabulary is shared, especially by the subject of it. My kid thinks it’s cool though.” She snorts. “Like some movie villain type thing.”

Becky has to take a minute for how pretty Maia looks against the backdrop of the organized haphazard of flowers and the blue of the sky outside, and for the casualness in which Maia says ‘my wife’. It’s no different from the way a countless number of Becky’s customers have referred to their beloveds, and Becky has only a second to be confused by the shot of disappointment in her belly. “I say things how they are,” she sniffs, moving a packet of seeds from one group to another, if only to keep her hands busy. Still, she can’t help but to steer back to the topic her nosy mind lingers on. “Flowers of longing are a bit strange to get for your wife, are they not?” She doesn’t know why she shifts into slightly more formal language, but the words are out before she can mull over them.

Something in Maia’s expression changes at that, and not in a bad way, Becky thinks, and soon Maia is smiling in a kind of strange way that Becky can’t understand. 

“They’re not for my wife,” Maia says, giving a little piece of herself to Becky that she doesn’t get yet.

Becky’s brow furrows. Fervid as their rivalry, and thus her hate for Maia, was prior, she didn’t take her for a cheater. And why would she tell Becky that in this tiny city? Why would she tell anyone at-- Oh. Something bursts in her, an antithesis to the shot of disappointment from earlier, and Becky squashes it down because she can’t put a name that makes sense onto it yet. “Polyamorous?” she says, and Maia’s teasing look as she watches Becky figure it out is more than enough confirmation. 

Becky nods, repositioning another seed packet again, needing something to do with her hands as she flusters. She doesn’t have a problem with polyamory, not in the slightest. She’s had more than a few polyamorous partners, all of whom she got along with fine, at least until they split. So why, why is there a tumble in her gut that’s making Becky a little nauseous, a little uncomfortable, and, most strangely of all, a little excited? This is her _ nemesis, _ silly as that word is, someone she’s met twice and doesn’t have any reason to care for much, so why is she so… affected?

“Uh,” she stutters out, pointedly not looking at Maia’s disarming smirk. “Who for then? The flower?” She looks up then, steels up enough to feel brave enough to, and of course, Maia is there, smiling at her in a kind of amused, curious way.

Maia laughs then, a little huff of breath through her open mouthed smile that she can’t quite keep in check, and mulls over her answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says finally, slowly, and Becky flushes at the almost green glow of her dark eyes.

Becky can’t help but to gape at the answer, before rolling her eyes and huffing, straightening on her stool behind the counter. She leans forward, setting her chin on both hands and looking directly at Maia. _ Your move. _

Maia smiles, surprised and almost chuffed. She leans her weight on one leg, shifting her hip, and picking up the stemmed camellia and twirling it between her fingertips and pretty pink nails. Finally, she looks at Becky, who hasn’t moved, watching her. Maia lets out another quiet laugh at their antics, smiling more broadly. “How much?” she says, looking down at the flower in… embarrassment? How strange. Becky doesn’t understand her at _ all. _

“Free of charge,” Becky says, and has the pleasure of watching surprise cross Maia’s face as she tries to conceal it. “As long as,” she continues, interrupting whatever response Maia had been about to start with. “You tell me who the subject of your pink camellia is. Doesn’t have to be today. Just eventually.”

Maia nods, sniffs the pretty flower now that it’s officially hers. “And what if I’m just buying a flower I find pretty for myself or the dining table?”

An image flashes in Becky’s mind then, of a table set for two or for however many Maia calls her family, and Maia grinning, bright and infectious and personal, at the person across from her. It’s so strange. Becky _ always _ does this, always gets so far into crushes when they shouldn’t even have started yet, but Maia… Maia isn’t a crush. She _ isn’t. _ She’s a nemesis, a business rival, a…

Becky smiles. “Well, then you just get a free pretty flower. Not much to complain about, is there?”

Maia looks at her, gets that strange expression that Becky can’t make sense of again, the one that isn’t negative and makes weird feelings of pink explode inside her. “No,” she says. “There isn’t.” 

Maia clears her throat then, straightening. “Thank you for the camellia,” she says, still twirling it between her fingers. She walks out of the store with a little wave.

Becky watches her go. _ Longing. _ A strange feeling. Becky doesn’t really understand Maia Roberts at all.

-

Maia looks up from the book she’s reading when the bell above the door sounds. She takes her feet off the stool next to her at the sight of long, dark hair, highlighting a line in the book before closing it around a bookmark and setting it to the side.

“Izzy,” she says. “Hey, what are you looking for?”

Isabelle turns to her, grinning brightly with that ever present smile Maia’s seen a million times before and making her way over. “Hey,” she says, happily.

Maia grins. “What’s gotten you in such a good mood?”

Izzy pulls the stool around the counter, sitting across from Maia, smile never faltering. “Guess what the kids did at school today.”

“Ooh a kids story,” Maia says, leaning forward. “Do tell.”

“So today was baking day,” Izzy says, drawing it out. “So they all made cookies. And Sam sent me these photos.” Izzy gets out her phone, flipping to the right picture before giving it to Maia. “You can swipe right,” she says.

They have the fortune of being friends with the teacher and all their kids being in the same class, so this isn’t the first time they’ve gotten photos from school out of nowhere, which Maia is immensely thankful for, even if Andre doesn’t know all the photos Ms. Wilson are taking go straight to his moms. 

And oh god. Becoming a mom was the _ best _ decision. The first image is of Andre and Lan, who instead of making a cookie out of only one of their batters, decided to try and each make half a heart and stick them together after baking. It didn’t work of course, and the second image shows Andre near tears as Lan forges ahead decorating the unsuccessful puzzle pieces. The third picture shows a happier Andre posing with the Lan, Alex, Jackie, and Sam, each person dual-wielding cookies, the ones Andre and Alex posing with each more than half eaten. Maia continues flipping through the photos, Izzy leaning forward to see them too, each one much the same as the last, showing their kids covered in batter, sprinkles, and chocolate chips, hair in disarray and shirts messy. 

“Oh my god,” Maia says finally, and Isabelle nods vehemently in agreement. “Can you send these to me?” she says, looking up from the phone.

Isabelle smirks, half-heartedly glaring at her. “I already did. _ Someone _ was just too busy to see.”

Maia puts her hands up. “Hey, don’t blame me for being focused at my job.”

Izzy wordlessly lets her eyes land on the book sitting on the counter and Maia rolls her eyes. 

“Work is always slow at this time of day.”

“Mmhm,” Izzy agrees. “So you have no reason whatsoever to not check your texts.”

Maia rolls her eyes again. “Don’t you have work to be at?”

“Nope!” Izzy says, popping the ‘p’. “It’s my day off. Plus, are you saying you didn’t want me to come over and show you these very important photos?”

“I mean, I would’ve seen them eventually.”

“Wow, okay,” Izzy says, nodding. “I see my services are unappreciated. I guess next time I should just not send you these very cute and very important photos of your very cute and very important son.”

“Hey now,” Maia says playfully. “I didn’t say that.”

Izzy sniffs and Maia rolls her eyes. “Thank you Iz.”

Izzy grins. “That’s more like it.” She looks out the window for a second before checking her phone. “But you’re right that I do have somewhere to be, so I should go.”

“Oh?” Maia says. “Where to?”

“Baking class,” Izzy responds quickly.

Maia’s eyes widen. “Iz, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Nonsense, I already signed up and I’m running quite late,” Izzy says, whirling off the seat and to the door. “Bye, Maia!”

“Bye--” Maia says, but she’s already gone.

Not half a minute later, the door is opening again, Becky stepping in with a strange look on her face. She turns to Maia. “Was that--” she stops herself, smiling wryly and shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Maia raises her eyebrows. “Hi, what brings you here?”

Becky shrugs. “It’s slow right now, so I closed for a few minutes.”

Maia nods, and waves to the seat on the other side of the counter Izzy had just been occupying. “Well,” she says. “Make yourself at home.”

Maia picks up her book, opening it and immersing herself back in. Distantly she wonders when Becky became so welcome in her shop, but it’s a silly thought. Anyone who comes in is a customer, regardless of any dumb nemesis rules. So she settles back, eyes following the curves of ink on the pages, occasionally picking up one of her highlighters to twirl it or mark a line. 

It’s only a few pages later that Maia chances a look at the woman across from her, setting the book on her lap. She’s looking away right now, out towards the windows. Not at the street, but at the display Maia has at the side of the left front window. Metal pots and buckets and ceramic bowls are nailed along the wall and curving down the bottom of the display, each bursting with flowers of all kinds. Some of the containers are even holed, and more flowers crane their way out the openings, vying for attention. Becky’s mouth is slightly open, framed by glossed lips and shadowed by her straight, prominent nose. Her lashes are short and spread wide, open but resting easily over her eyes like petals on a flower, and her eyes. They’re focused and awed, admiring each of the individual blooms, hair falling and framing the picture in dark brown. Hair that Maia wants to stroke. A thick strand is out of place from the others, resting at the side of Becky’s cheekbone, almost in her eyes.

Before she can reach out a hand to move it, Becky suddenly turns toward her, the strand falling back amongst the rest with the movement, and Maia’s eyes widen, caught in her blatant admiration. 

But Becky either doesn’t notice or chooses not to address it, turning again so her eyes catch on something behind Maia, and Maia turns too.

At seeing what’s caught her attention, Maia exhales a sound, half a laugh and half a sigh, picking up the set aside flower with careful hands and going to set it on the counter. But looking at Becky, at the missed opportunity of earlier, and at the want in her stomach that she knows so well but hasn’t experienced in so long, she does something else.

Quickly, she reaches under the counter and snips off the stem of the flower. Then, so carefully, Maia leans forward off her stool and sweeps Becky’s hair to the side, tucking the flower behind her ear and fixing it with a little bobby pin from one of her counter shelves.

Somehow, it feels like too much if Maia were to readjust Becky’s hair around the flower, heck, it feels like she’s done too much _ already, _ so Maia leans back, sitting on the stool again but not relaxing, waiting for Becky’s reaction.

Becky stares at her, stunned. She looks gorgeous like this, the purple roses from the first time still standing pretty and tall in their display behind her, the only display Maia hasn’t changed in the last week and she doesn’t know why, might know why, might know in the knowing glances Clary sends her when she talks about work and Becky, might know in the flutter of her gut and softening of her expression each time she looks at the lavender blooms, the one Becky touched when she almost knocked it over, might know in the burning of her cheeks each time her eyes land on the colors of dark purple. God, it’s been so long since Maia’s felt like this and seriously wanted it to go somewhere, but all other times before and after Clary it’s failed, hasn’t it? Clary’s the only one that’s succeeded so well, the only time she’s felt so loved and on top of the world and it’s _ lasted, _ lasted through her loving back and probably forevermore, but isn’t that just a really, really lucky strike? After Clary, it’s never worked again for Maia. It didn’t work out with Izzy, not that either of them minded, it didn’t work out with Kaelie, the time before Clary _ or _ the time after she and Clary were already together, and it didn’t work any of the other times. None worked except Clary. But she _ has _ Clary. And even if it was just a stroke of really fucking amazing luck, does Maia deserve more than that? Can she ask for more than that? It’s been so long since Maia’s felt like this, but does she deserve it?

It’s also been far too long since either of them have spoken, Becky still staring at her, but kind of curiously now, like she’s trying to figure something out. Like she’s trying to figure _ Maia _ out. Maia doesn’t know which part of her Becky wants to know about, or if she does at all, but her gaze is overwhelming, and Maia suddenly wants to be back in her book, or at home with Clary and Andre and the things she’s come to _ know _ and doesn’t have to wonder or worry about.

“Are you making fun of me?” Becky says finally, and Maia starts. 

“I-- wait, what?”

“Oh my god,” Becky says, burying her face in her hands and letting out an ugly snort laugh. “I can’t believe you,” she moans into her hands, and when she looks up, her cheeks are burning red.

Maia’s _ genuinely _ confused now, and slightly worried. She definitely didn’t mean anything seriously bad by the flower, only a little inside joke with the giving each other single blossoms, but maybe she’d done something to offend Becky? Oh god, she’s spent so long worried about her own thoughts she hadn’t even considered she’d--

Becky lets out another sound of embarrassment, laughing self-deprecatingly into her hands. “I can’t believe you paid so much attention to even _ remember _ which flower I knocked into, and I _ apologized, _ but of course you go and give me a fucking _ gloxinia, _ with the same meaning, oh my gosh, Maia, you--”

And _ oh. _ Oh god. _ Oh my god, _ Maia thinks. Because Becky thinks Maia chose the pinky red flower which the bleached rim because it means love at first sight, just like the lavender rose Becky bumped into a week ago. She thinks she’s making fun of her for that moment, even after Becky apologized, and not that Maia chose it because in her exhausted from work state from last night, she saw the pretty bloom, immediately thought of Becky with the meaning only half there in the back of her mind, and set it aside before locking up. Maia can only gape at the woman in front of her, with cheeks matching the bright petals in intense color, and tears in her eyes from laughing. Becky is-- she’s actually--

She’s giving Maia an _ out _ is what she’s doing, on accident sure but a way out of this hole Maia has dug herself into in this strange infatuation for this strange, peculiar, wonderful woman.

So Maia laughs too, and it’s not hard with how infectious Becky’s grin is, and then they’re both bent over the counter grinning at each other like fools, high on a joke Maia didn’t even know she made. Maia smirks, looking at Becky with probably far too much affection in her eyes.

But she thinks it’s okay, because Becky’s smiling too, a competitive little gleam in her eye matching the tilt at the left of her mouth, a spot that Maia wants to lean forward and kiss, and oh god this is bad, isn’t it? She has to tell Clary, or _ someone _ about this, because it’s becoming too much far too quickly.

“So,” Becky says. “How much?”

It takes Maia a second to realize she’s asking how much the price is and not how much she fell, but the response is quick on her lips once she gets there. “Free of charge.”

“Hm,” Becky hums. She looks across the street. “Well, I should open my store back up. Feel free to visit sometime.”

“Bye,” Maia says.

Becky nods and smiles at her, glossed lips making a cute ‘v’ shape, and heads out the door after thanking her for the gloxinia.

_ Fuck, _ Maia thinks, and calls Clary.

-

“--and then when I got home, Skipper met me at the door all happy and god, Becky, you don’t understand how _ cute _ he is. I know I adopted him like five years ago but he’s honestly the best companion and I don’t think I’ll ever get over his cute little face and his scruffy belly and his adorable barks--”

Becky listens to Maureen talk, laughing and humming along, asking for pictures of Skipper as she wraps up a bouquet for the younger woman. She finishes tying a little bow out of twine and gingerly hands the bouquet over.

“Cool, thanks Becks!” Maureen takes the flowers, grinning. “How much will that be?”

Becky zones out for a second, thinking of someone who’s very rapidly taken up space in her mind, saying very similar words.

She shakes her head and rattles off the price. She’s being stupid, they’re customers, and customers pay for things so they all ask for prices. 

But Maia… Does Maia count as a customer? Have she and Becky ever gone to each other’s stores to _ buy _ flowers? They _ gave _ each other flowers of course, but it’s become a sort of trade off, and isn’t that payment as well?

She waves bye to Maureen, who starts to head out before Becky calls her again. “Actually, Maureen,” she starts. “Do you have anywhere to be?”

Maureen looks at her curiously before shaking her head, curls waving around her face. “No, I can stick around a bit. What’s up?”

Becky pulls out a stool for her and she sits, waiting patiently for her to say something as Becky starts to play around with the seed packets again. “I just, uh,” Becky starts, eloquently. “I know it’s kind of weird to talk with you about this because you’ve always been closer with my brother, but I uh,” she shakes her head, moving a hand to rub her own face. “I met a girl.”

Maureen’s eyes positively light up at that, and she claps her hands on top of Becky’s. “Do tell,” she _ implores, _ leaning forward, and Becky almost laughs in relief because suddenly it feels so much easier to share.

“Well, we got off to kind of a rocky start,” Becky says, laughing and brushing hair out of her face. “But I think we’re cool now, and she’s really cute and we have this thing where we give each other flowers, and she’s _ so _ pretty and I’m just kind of really lesbian and--”

“Stop,” Maureen says, cutting her off. “You give each other _ flowers? _” She slaps the hand she’s grasping. “You didn’t tell me you got a girlfriend!”

“No, no,” Becky quickly corrects. “We’re not. She’s a florist, so it’s just kind of a natural thing, you know? Like a trade off, or some weird competition of sorts. Well, it’s not _ competitive, _ but she always gets this kind of gleam in her eye when we do it so it kind of _ is? _ But--”

“_ Wait, _ ” Maureen says, cutting her off again. “She’s a florist? Where did you meet her? There aren’t really florists nearby except--” She stops herself, mouth forming an ‘o’ so perfectly it’s almost comical. “Oh my god, do you have a crush on your _ nemesis? _ Ms. Taki Blossoms?”

“Okay, wow,” Becky says, nodding to herself. “You know what, maybe Maia’s wife was right, ‘nemesis’ really does sound ridiculous.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Maureen says. Then, “Who’s Maia?”

“Oh,” Becky says, realizing. “I didn’t tell you. Right, Maia is the florist. ‘Ms. Taki Blossoms’, as you just called her.”

Maureen’s eyes widen. “Oh no, sweetie she has a wife? Becky, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Becky insists quickly. “She’s polyamorous so that doesn’t really affect me.”

“Oh!” Maureen says, smiling again. “Okay, so why don’t you ask her out?”

Becky stiffens. “Oh, wow, I didn’t even think of doing that. But I mean, it’d be kind of weird? Like, I do think I, uh, _ like _ her and all,” and whoa, isn’t that exhilarating to say out loud. “But we _ are _ also nemeses. Or, recently nemeses. Ex-nemeses?”

“Ex-nemeses,” Maureen says seriously, nodding in affirmation. 

“Yes, ex-nemeses,” Becky says. “It would be weird, I think? Like, I don’t think it would be welcome? Or I guess half of confessions aren’t welcome, that’s what rejections are, not that this would be a _ confession, _ that makes it sound so _ serious-- _”

“Shh,” Maureen shushes her, patting her hands. “Just ask her out. Trust me. Or keep giving her pretty flowers until she gets the hint.”

It’s wholly unhelpful advice, but it seems like the logical thing to do, so despite their conversation continuing for much longer, that is what Becky settles on.

The question is: how many flowers will it take for Maia to pick up what Becky’s putting down?

(Flowers. She’s putting down flowers. Also maybe feelings. But only maybe.)

-

“Seriously, Mai,” Gretel says through the phone. “_ Talk _ to Clary about it. I’ll always be here for you, you know that, but Clar’s the one who should know about your feelings on this.”

“I know,” Maia says. “I guess I just needed to tell you first. Get some pep, you know?”

“Yeah,” Gretel replies, and Maia can almost hear her soft smile. “You can do this. I know it feels like it’s been a long time, but that’s not a bad thing. It’s not a bad thing at all. It just means that Clary is _ right _ for you, and that if anyone will understand, it’s her.”

Maia nods, even though her best friend can’t see it. “Yeah,” she says through the thickness in her throat. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime.”

Maia laughs suddenly, wetly but still bright. “Who would have thought you’d come to like Clary so much?”

Gretel laughs on the other end, bright and high where Maia’s is low and snorting. “Well, she was stubborn enough to stick around five years, and all because you love each other. That’s worthy of getting my vote, I guess.”

“You ‘guess’” Maia says, mimicking her. The bedroom door cracks open, Clary’s face haloed by the yellow light of the hallway and Maia inhales, bracing but not steeling herself. “Gretel, Clary’s here. I’ll call you later?”

“Yeah,” Gretel says. “Let me know how it goes, and I’m a call or text away if you need anything after.”

“Thanks, G.”

“Anytime, Mai.”

The call disconnects and Maia breathes in deeply again, looking up at her wife. She’s in her pajamas, having just put Andre to bed. Her ‘pajamas’ are really just one of Maia’s old shirts, worn and holed and faded, exposing the tattoos at her collarbone and along her arms, and hanging off her shoulder.

Maia breathes out. It’s Clary. No matter what, it’s Clary, and it’s always gonna be Clary. Just Clary, who’s so in love with Maia, and wears her t-shirts to sleep, and who lends her jacket to Maia, and who eats unhealthy cereal while insisting on whole wheat bread, and who watches Maia braid Andre’s hair in the mornings, and who will tell Maia time and time again how much she loves her kisses, and who whispers ‘I love you’ and ‘love you’ and ‘you, love’ and a million different variations into every single spot on Maia’s body, and who’s really fucking stubborn, and who climbs on chairs and counters to shout over a bad TV show, and who refuses to sit normally in a chair, and who gives the best hugs, and who loves more than Maia has ever met, and who has never, _ ever _ left Maia, no matter how brash she is and no matter how many hundreds of dreams she’s pursued, she’s _ never left, _ not Maia, not Isabelle, not any of her friends, not anyone. Even when life has pushed her away, for work, or for some business to take care of, or for family, or for anything, she’s never left forever. She’s always come back, and she’s made it her damn mission to leave as little as possible, so this, _ this _ of all things won’t make her leave.

Maia pats the space on the bed beside her, moving her legs so she’s fully on the bed as Clary climbs on. Clary plants a kiss on her cheek and the corner of her mouth, brushing a hand through Maia’s curls and smiling sweetly. “Hey,” she says. “Was that Gretel?”

Maia nods, not trusting her voice quite yet. 

Clary nods. “How is she? How’s studying abroad?”

Gretel. Gretel, Maia can talk about. “She’s good,” Maia says, nodding slightly again before leaning forward to lay her head on her wife’s collar. “She likes the place. I think she’s really happy there.”

Clary hums, stroking her hand up and down Maia’s neck and back, the other hand scratching through the curls at the base of her skull.

“I miss her,” Maia says, before Clary can ask. “I miss her a lot.”

Clary nods, and Maia pulls herself up from Clary’s neck, breathing in deeply. “She’s your rock,” Clary says. “I get that.” She pulls Maia hand into hers, playing with the ring on her left ring finger, their ring.

Maia shakes her head. “You’re my rock.”

Clary shakes her head and smiles again, that sweet, beautiful smile. “No, I’m your _ wife. _ And the love and light of your life, I know, but Gretel has been and always will be your rock and best friend in ways that I can’t be. And that’s _ fine. _”

Distantly, Maia figures that Clary must have realized what this is about, but for now she just nods and holds onto Clary’s hands, lets her play with hers.

Clary finally exhales and brings up one of Maia’s hands to cup her cheek, leaning into it with a happy sigh. “Maia,” she says. “Are we going to talk about what we did the other day?”

The other day, when Maia had called her from the store in a fluster.

Maia smiles wryly. “We already did, didn’t we?” But she knows that’s not what Clary means. Throughout the call, Maia had avoided the main subject of her panic and they’d ended up talking about Andre, which is never a bad thing, but it hadn’t been what Maia needed to do to get the support she needed to hear.

“No, love,” Clary says. She squeezes Maia’s hands between them. Maia squeezes back. “Come on, baby,” Clary says. “Tell me about Rebecca?”

Maia squeezes her eyes shut and forces herself to nod. Here Clary is, a beautiful, actual angel, but more than that just _ Clary, _ the love of her life, asking her to tell her about someone else. And deep down Maia _ knows _ that’s not as dirty as it sounds, not a bad thing or a smear in her character, but deeper down Maia wonders if she’s ever truly given herself the chance to have something other than monoamory. Maia nods again, if only to assure herself, and opens her eyes.

Clary sighs out something beautiful and sad and leans forward, placing kisses on her eyelids, and Maia knows her eyes have gone a little green like they always do when she gets too emotional. 

“Love,” Clary whispers, when Maia isn’t speaking. “I’m here. And I won’t leave, no matter how many outs you give me, no matter how much you expect me to. I _ won’t _ leave.”

Maia nods and takes a few more moments, just breathing, bringing Clary’s hand up to her neck where the skin is soft and thin and fragile and letting it settle there, breathing warmth into her body and comfort and trying to believe in Clary’s words as much as she and Clary both want her to.

“Um,” Maia says, finally swallowing and laughing the smallest bit in spite of herself. “Rebecca. Becky. She’s gorgeous.” She pauses, looks at Clary and sees support and love and _ solidarity _ in her piercing hazel eyes and _ oh, that, _that’s the missing piece, that’s what Maia needed. Clary nods, and Maia keeps going. “Yeah, she’s um, she’s beautiful. We go to each other’s shops and the sun comes through the windows and her hair looks so pretty and brown encased in gold.”

Maia keeps going.

“She’s really sweet. She has such a delightful laugh, and one time when I went over she had coffee for both of us waiting. It was the wrong order and I hated it but it was nice, you know? We both kind of laughed at her but no matter the outcome, it wasn’t like, futile you know? It was kind, and appreciated.” Maia looks up all of a sudden in worry, and Clary hushes her. It’s not that Clary doesn’t do these kinds of things for her, and it’s not that Maia doesn’t appreciate her. That’s not it, and Clary knows that. Clary knows that. Clary knows that. Clary thinks that too. Clary thinks that too, and looking into Clary’s eyes, her wife leaves no room for argument in her expression.

So Maia keeps going.

“I accidentally gave her a flower meaning love at first sight. Or, not accidentally. I don’t know. I wasn’t really fully ‘there’ when I picked it so. But she just laughed because she thought I was making fun of her, because the first time she came to Taki’s she knocked into a flower with the same meaning. A lavender rose.”

And going.

“She gets flustered a lot. She wears her heart on her sleeve and she looks at me so deeply. But when she’s flustered, she looks away, but her eyes don’t stay away for more than a few seconds at a time.”

And going.

“Sometimes I want to kiss her. At the tilt of her smirk. At the crease of her brow. The spot where her lip gloss is never applied quite evenly. Underneath her lashes. Where I stuck the gloxinia the second time she came over.”

And going.

“Her hair is really soft. As soft as it looks, and so thick. It suits her.”

And going.

“I really like her.”

And going.

“I really, really like her.”

And going.

She goes until she’s so completely drained of breath, until she feels she’s carved her heart out and squeezed it of every ashamed feeling deep inside, waiting for Clary to reject them but knowing somehow, now, that she doesn’t feel quite so ashamed anymore, and that Clary will cherish and love and be happy about them just as much as any other part of Maia that she’s accepted and taken as more reasons not to leave. 

And yes, Clary takes her hands and cups them against her cheeks, smiling between them and gazing up at Maia, her soul so openly bared in her eyes to match Maia, wound for wound. And first, she says, simply but so, so seriously. “I will never leave you. I never intended to, I never will want to, and I never will.” She moves Maia’s hands so they lay over her heart and sighs like she’s coming home. “When you touch me,” she says. “I feel like every star I’ve wished on has answered me in your form.” She leans forward, kissing Maia’s cheek, and then her hairline, and then her ear, and then her nose, and then her eyelids. And then, her lips. “When you accept each one of my kisses, I feel like my birthday has come early, like I’m the luckiest creature in the world to have someone love me so much and so simply.” She pulls Maia towards her, and Maia goes, kissing her fully, opening their lips to stroke her tongue inside, still holding onto Clary’s heart inside Maia’s shirt. “When you kiss me,” Clary says, smiling once their lips have parted. “I am meeting you all over again. It’s not like fireworks, it’s not like seeing an angel, it’s not like any of those beautiful imagines because when you kiss, you leave no room for another thought. When you kiss me, all I see is _ you. _” Clary smiles wetly, and Maia believes it, she does. “That’s why I love your kisses.”

Clary scoots forward again. “But you have to know, sweetheart,” she says, and Maia pays attention, because something in Clary’s gaze tells her she must. “That you kissing someone else, that you _ wanting _ someone else, doesn’t change _ any _ of that.” Clary squeezes Maia’s hands and lets them go, just for a second, just for Maia to see her point. “When you think of her,” Clary says quickly, not wanting to be apart from Maia for too long. “Do you stop thinking of me?”

Maia swallows, thinks, but there’s only one possible answer. “No,” she says. “Of course not.”

And Clary takes back her hands and squeezes them. “See?” she says. “And I am with Izzy. Does that mean I love you any less?”

“_ No, _” Maia says, because the thought is ridiculous, could never make sense. 

“Good,” Clary says, taking a hand away to stroke across Maia’s hairline. “Good, because it’s true. I love you, and I _ know _ you, and you love me, and you _ know _ me, and no other person could ever possibly change that.” Clary looks at her, locks eyes with her, and Maia can’t look away even as liquid spills down her cheeks, doesn’t even nod to disturb their connection. “That’s what we decided when we said we’d be open, when we said we’d be polyamorous. And we decided then that that goes both ways. Just because you haven’t been with anyone other than me for a long time doesn’t change that agreement, doesn’t change our _ feelings _ at all.”

Maia nods then, and Clary does too. “Good,” Clary says. “So can we get under the covers now? I know you started while we were sitting on them to make it easier for me to physically go, but know that I’m not going to. If more people make us more happy, which we both have learned that they _ do, _ they’re certainly not going to make us leave each other. So you can stop giving me easier ways out, because all I ever want to do with you is stay in. Okay?”

“Okay,” Maia whispers, because she doesn’t know what else to say. She didn’t know tonight she would hear everything she needed to, didn’t know Clary even had the words for this, the words to encompass everything she was doubting and take them away. She climbs under the covers as Clary raises them, scooting closer and exhaling completely when their arms wrap around each other. Clary reaches to turn off the lamp and comes back, their bodies completely and fully tucked together under the blankets, and this is home. This is certain, and is _ always _ going to be certain, no matter how many homes Maia may have in the future. They don’t change the fact that this is always going to be one. 

“Clary?” Maia whispers in the dark, because she has to ask. 

Clary hums, and Maia continues.

“Did you ever have doubts? Like the things you just told me. Did you ever need to be told them?”

Clary breathes out and snuggles closer, raising her head to meet Maia’s eyes. “A long, long time before you,” she says. “But yes,” she confirms. “Yes, I did.” She pauses, looks deeper and seems to find something in Maia’s eyes, in her expression. “I don’t need it anymore,” she says. “I have you and Izzy, and I’ve never had anything I’m more sure of in my entire life. The whole world around me,” Clary breathes. “It’s you two, and Andre. Maybe Aline in a different way in the future. My mom and my dad. Helen. The flowers you sell. The trees we have outside our house. The way the clouds look outside this city. The bakery in the bigger city nearby that you drive all the way to buy from because I like it so much. This world,” she says, and shakes Maia’s hand in her fierceness. “Before it I felt something missing. I don’t anymore.” She shakes her head. “I know that doesn’t really say why it went away, but I have all I need, truly and completely. So I don’t need those words anymore. I only need this world, which includes _ you, _ who I have with me, in our bed, wearing our rings, in the same house as our kid. This is more than enough.”

Maia holds her tighter because she doesn’t have quite the words to say back. “I love you,” she says, because it’s honest, because it’s always gonna be right. “Clary, just because I needed you to say those things, doesn’t mean you’re not enough, that this isn’t--”

“I know,” Clary cuts her off. “Just because that’s kind of how it worked for me doesn’t mean it’s gonna work that way for you. Okay? I know. And I love you, so much. Your needs aren’t going to change that, and they aren’t going to make me doubt you.”

Maia nods, doesn’t protest anymore and doesn’t say anything more no matter her tendency to affirm things so people know what she truly means. Clary knows. Clary knows. Clary knows and Clary loves. Maia nods again and pulls the blankets up more, holding Clary tight and relaxing in the hug Clary gives her back, and finally, _ finally, _ lets rest claim her.

-

When Maia next walks into Roses for Elaine, Becky’s ready.

“Hi,” she greets her, and reaches behind herself for the pre-wrapped flower.

Maia coos when she sees the white flower, taking it and smiling at Becky. “Aww, Becky, a calla lily?” She grins. “You didn’t tell me you think I’m beautiful.”

“Oh wow,” Becky says, squinting at Maia with a matching silly grin. “You know, I think I actually prepared that for someone else. I swear it was for someone a little more _ modest, _” she says, reaching forward to snatch the flower back.

“Hey now,” Maia says, holding it out of reach. “The compliment and the flower were already given, and I call no take-backsies.”

Becky laughs out loud at that. “Fine, fine. As chagrined as I am about your response, I do respect the rules.”

“So,” Maia says, cocking her hip out and studying the flower in mock seriousness. “Back to the subject at hand.” Finally, she looks at Becky, pout on her face giving way to a playful smirk. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Becky rolls her eyes and laughs. “Get out of my store, Maia.”

Maia laughs, swiveling on her heel and sauntering out. “Bye,” she says, drawing out the syllable and swinging out the door.

Maia’s ridiculous. This game is ridiculous. Becky’s grin widens. What flower should she pick next?

-

“You know,” Becky says, as she peruses the various cubes of flowers on display in Maia’s shop. “I know in terms of business we’re like, on par with each other, but I kind of expected your flowers to be a bit more…” she trails off, picking up a bundle of nasturtiums. “Tacky.” 

Maia suppresses a snort at the awful pun, focusing on the bouquet in front of her she’s working on. “It’s pronounced ‘TAH-key’, genius,” she says, moving a stalk of baby’s breath to the middle.

“How did you name your shop anyway?” Becky asks, moving to sit on the stool set across from Maia.

“Childhood puppy,” Maia responds, moving her hand aside to let Becky help her adjust the bouquet. “He would eat _ everything. _Including all the cute plants I had in my room.”

Becky coos. “What breed?”

“Golden retriever,” Maia smiles, remembering the adorable dog.

Becky looks up at that, catching Maia’s smile with an open, excited look on her face. “Do you have pictures?”

“I do, actually,” Maia says. “Oh, but they’re old so I have them on the computer at home. I could send them to you later?”

“I’d love that, so much,” Becky says, pausing where her hands are still above the bouquet, cheeks pinking and grinning, hair framing her face beautifully, as it always does. 

“Cool,” Maia says, digging her phone out of her pocket as Becky continues to arrange the flowers. She holds out her phone to the side. “Give me your number so I can send them to you?”

“Oh,” Becky says, and she seems to blank out for a second, blue-green eyes wide and lips parted, cheeks still pink. “Oh, yeah, of course,” she says, coming back to herself and taking the phone, quickly pressing her contact info in.

Maia snorts when she gets her phone back and sees the contact name Becky’s put in for herself. “Ms. RFE?”

Becky laughs, cheeks reddening a little more. “Yeah, my friend visited my shop the other day and referred to you as ‘Ms. Taki Blossoms’, so I thought it would be funny.”

Maia rolls her eyes, still laughing a little. “I have a better idea,” she says, and changes the contact name. She screenshots Becky’s contact and sends it to her.

Becky picks up her own phone when it sounds, a light bell sound quite similar to the bell above the door in TB. She looks at it and grins. “Aww,” she says, facing Maia and turning her screen towards her despite Maia being able to see it from her own phone. “You put me as Becky with a heart? Maia, I didn’t know we were that close yet.”

“You know, keep being like that and I might change it to something not as cute.”

“Yeah?” Becky says, teasing. “Like what?”

“Like,” Maia starts. “Like, I don’t know, like--”

“Aww,” Becky says, reaching across the counter to pat ruffle a hand in Maia’s curls. “Can’t even think of something to insult me with?”

Maia pauses, hands out in front of her in her gesticulations, unconsciously sinking into Becky’s hand.

“Maia?” Becky says, retracting her hand. “Sorry, was that too far? I shouldn’t have touched you without asking, I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no,” Maia says quickly. “It’s fine. I mean, thank you for checking after but it’s fine, really. Plus, I’ve touched you before and I, oh god I should’ve checked with you, I--”

“Okay,” Becky says, nodding, interrupting her. “It’s cool.” She pauses for a second before changing the topic, the bouquet between them long forgotten. “So, do you have a flower ready for me?”

Maia smiles at that. “I do, in fact. Let me go get it.”

She gets up from her seat and walks over to one of the box displays, pulling a variegated tulip from the center and rearranging the flowers around it before turning back to Becky, stepping forward to slide it in her hair as per usual. She steps back, and it’s as she thought. The stripes of shocking dark pink and white look beautiful pinning Becky’s hair back, contrasting with Becky’s green eyes and bringing out the traces of tan next to her pupils. Maia leans forward, unconsciously, to examine the flower further, and suddenly she’s closer than she thought, face inches from Becky’s, who still sits on the stool looking at Maia with wide green eyes.

Wide, Maia notices, but not uncomfortable. And before she knows it, Maia’s leaning forward, bit by bit, closing the space between them. And Becky goes too, and soon Maia is tasting pink lipgloss and feeling hands that stink of flowers and perfume scratch tentatively along her jaw. She steps closer and Becky lets her, trailing her hands up and back to find home in the bottom of Maia’s curls. And god, that feels _ so _ good, so Maia opens her mouth and lets Becky’s tongue in, and they kiss in the middle of Maia’s shop.

When they break apart, it’s slow and quiet, just breathing between each other with the flowers all around the room. Slowly, Becky lets go of Maia and Maia takes her hands away from where they’ve come to rest on Becky’s sides.

“So,” Becky says, and it’s loud in the silence but it’s also a voice that has gotten so familiar in Maia’s life so quickly, and it’s not jarring, it’s here, it’s perfect. “I have beautiful eyes?” She looks up at Maia at that, smile slowly growing on her lips and Maia can’t help but mimic it.

“Green,” Maia says, avoiding the question but answering it in her voice, and Becky nods.

“Okay,” she says, and Maia raises a brow.

“Okay?”

“Okay, more than okay,” Becky says, and she looks a little bit wild and more than a bit happy, if still surprised. “Thank you for the tulip. And for the compliment. And the uh--”

“You’re welcome for the kiss,” Maia says, teasing smile on her lips, and _ oh, _ she forgot how fun this could be when it first starts. “And thank _ you, _ for the--”

“For the kiss,” Becky finishes quickly. “Right,” she says, and Maia thinks she forgets to say goodbye as she whirls out the door and back to her own shop.

“Right,” Maia repeats, grinning to herself.

-

The next time Maia comes in, Becky’s turned away from the door. She’s at the front of the counter, making a bouquet just right when Maia clears her throat and Becky whirls around, brandishing the ribbon-tied bundle of viscarias.

“Flowers,” she says, eloquent as ever. “Ready. Yours. For you.”

Maia nods, leaning forward with question in her eyes, and Becky holds the flowers to the side for a moment to step a foot forward and meet Maia’s lips. Their hands come to each others’ shoulders before they step back, and Maia nods again, smiling and rubbing her lips together. 

“Mmhm,” she hums, looking down at the viscarias. “You were saying?”

“Right,” Becky says, once she has a hold on herself. She brings up the flowers, rubbing her thumbs along the stems gently. “Viscarias. I thought they’d suit you.”

The purple and pink blooms look plucked from a cartoon or animation, petals poised and shaped like wide raindrops, falling outwards in both gradient and flat shades of indigo, imperial violet, lilac, dusty pink, pale, almost white-pink, barbie pink, and the occasional deep, satin crimson. 

Maia gingerly takes the flowers in both hands, and Becky was _ right, _they do look so beautiful against the brown of Maia’s skin.

“When?” Maia says, not stopping her admiration of the pretty blooms, and Becky has to look closer but Maia is definitely blushing, color staining her cheeks and so gorgeous next to her deep eyes.

“Sorry?”

“Viscarias mean ‘will you dance with me?’” Maia says, not that Becky doesn’t know. “When do you want me?”

“Oh,” Becky says. “Anytime. Anywhere. In the future. Eventually.”

Maia smiles further, leaning down to take a deep inhale of the flowers’ perfume, sighing happily. “Okay,” she says, grinning. Then, “Do you dance?”

Becky shrugs. “I uh, used to. Just a bit. That’s not why I picked them, though.”

“Just wanted to dance with me?” Maia says, raising a brow.

“Well.” Becky smiles, looks down at the viscarias, looks back at Maia. “Something like that.”

Maia simply smiles at that, looking a little disbelieving, and it honestly floors Becky just a little, that she can bring such an expression to someone so beautiful.

“Do you dance?” Becky asks Maia, breaking the silence.

“I did ballet for awhile,” Maia says slowly. “I haven’t in a bit, but I’d like to say I’m still decent. Compared to the average person at least.”

Becky nods, considering. “We should go together sometime. To a ballet class, I mean.”

Maia nods, still smiling at her, and it’s honestly a miracle Becky can function under all this pressure and… _ sight _ in front of her. Maia Roberts, hair pulled back with a purple bandana today, in a leather jacket, and swapping between smiling at Becky and the bundle of purple and pink flowers she holds with pretty brown hands and nails dipped in yellow. It’s really so unfair that Maia always comes over in the late afternoon, because the sun’s golden beams always frame her and the backdrop of flowers like a fucking halo, and there’s only so much Becky’s heart can take.

She almost misses Maia’s answer, which Maia clearly sees as her smile settles into a teasing smirk and Becky’s blushing all over again. She’s smiling still though, because how could she not?

“I’d like that,” Maia repeats, for Becky’s sake, and Becky nods fervently.

“Cool.”

“Cool?” 

“Very cool.” Becky looks around. “And on that note you should go. For me. For my sake. You look too pretty right now and I have work.”

Maia can’t suppress a laugh at that. “I don’t know, maybe I should stick around a bit longer.”

“Nope!” Becky says, turning her around and starting to push Maia out the door. “No, no! Stop trying to sabotage my business, Ms. Taki Blossoms!”

Maia only guffaws louder at that as she’s pushed out the door.

Oh, but wait.

Becky grabs her at the last second, spinning her around in the half open door frame, and dropping a kiss on Maia’s lips.

“Bye,” Becky says, grinning, and Maia’s eyes are wide but she’s grinning too, a little incredulously.

“Stupid,” Maia says, but she’s holding onto the viscarias like they’re precious to her, and that’s more than enough for Becky. “Bye,” Maia says back.

Then, the door is closed, and Becky still has laughter and the lingering taste of kisses on her lips as she watches Maia head to the crosswalk.

-

Maia’s talking with Izzy as Becky opens the door to Taki Blossoms, and as Maia exclaims “Becky!” in greeting, she sees Izzy’s eyes go wide out of her periphery.

Maia turns toward Izzy, confused, and just sees Izzy very studiously facing Maia and not looking at Becky as she mouths a continuous stream of ‘shit shit shit shit shit shit sh--’

“Hey Maia,” Becky says, flouncing up to the counter. She’s wearing a pink dress today, the layered skirt of it floating against her legs as she walks up to the counter and plants a kiss on Maia’s lips.

Maia smiles, placing her hand on Becky’s neck to prolong it just a little before they part. 

“Who’s your friend?” Becky says, turning towards Izzy on the spare seat Becky usually occupies, before her eyes suddenly widen. “Isabelle?”

“Wait, you know each other?” Maia says, raising an eyebrow and turning towards her wife’s girlfriend.

“You know, I should really be going,” Izzy says, getting up and shouldering her purse that was laying on the counter. “Maia, I’ll drop the triplets off with you tonight.”

“Triplets?” Becky says.

Maia catches Izzy’s arm. “Izzy,” she says, and it’s not a request, which Izzy knows as she sighs. Maia pulls Izzy back to the counter. “Stay here,” she says, and goes to the back room to grab another stool for Becky. 

“So,” Maia says, once they’re all settled around the counter. “How do you two know each other?”

“Isabelle’s been to my shop to buy flowers a few times,” Becky says. Maia turns to look at Izzy incredulously. “I actually came here for the first time on the same day I saw her in here.”

“Isabelle,” Maia says, and Izzy both stiffens and rolls her eyes at the full name use. “You know the rule.”

“Oh come on,” Izzy complains. “Does your ‘iron rule’ even matter now that you’re dating? Which, if you paid attention to the last part of what Becky said, is totally my doing?”

Suddenly Maia turns to Becky, only to see the other woman looking right back at her. “Are we dating?” Maia asks. She sees Isabelle face palm with a dramatic groan but ignores the traitor.

“I don’t know,” Becky says, and this time she’s the one with a wide, teasing grin. “Are we?”

“Hm,” Maia hums, narrowing her eyes. “We’re talking about this later.” She ignores the sputtering laugh that bubbles adorably out of Becky’s lips. “In the meantime, you should know that Izzy,” Maia says, turning back to the glaring dark-haired woman. “Is my wife’s girlfriend,” she tells Becky. “And is apparently a huge traitor that I must confront my wife about immediately.”

Izzy groans again and rolls her eyes. “You know Clary will take my side about this, especially because it lead to,” she wrinkles her nose, waving between the two. “This.”

“You know what,” Maia says, turning to Becky. “We are dating. We’re totally dating.”

“Oh, yeah,” Becky says, nodding seriously.

“But it’s not Izzy’s doing.”

“Nope, not at all.”

“Isabelle gets no credit.”

“I’m completely with you, babe.”

“Ooh,” Maia says, raising her eyebrows. “‘Babe?’”

“Is that okay?” Becky asks.

“Absolutely, babe,” Maia says, and Izzy groans louder.

“I’ve created an abomination,” she says, and Maia laces her hand with Becky’s in retaliation.

“_ You _ created nothing,” she says. “This is all our doing.”

“I did not break this tiny city’s one dumb iron rule to get your attention and rid the city of your stupid rivalry only to get zero credit. I did not. This is a smear of disrespect on the Isabelle Lightwood name,” Izzy says.

“Oh my god, babe,” Becky says. “She totally did it on purpose.”

“She betrayed us,” Maia says. “_ Both _ of us. On _ purpose. _”

“Unforgivable,” Becky says.

Maia nods, side-eyeing Izzy. “She’s like… a double double agent. A quadruple agent. But only for her own gain.”

“The gain of the entire fucking city, more like,” Isabelle corrects. “Remember the time poor Ms. Loss-Rollins came in to buy flowers for her wife and mentioned RFE, and you just _ glared _ at her?”

“Wait, Ms. Rollins?” Becky says. “Like, married to Dr. Loss, Ms. Loss-Rollins?”

“Yes!” Maia says. “Do you know them?”

“Well I’ve never met Dot but Dr. Loss comes in all the time.”

“No way,” Maia says, hand still linked with Becky’s. “Dot comes in here really often to buy for her wife but I’ve never met Dr. Loss.”

“See?” Izzy says excitedly. “Wouldn’t it be so much more fun and united and wonderful if the dumb rivalry just went away?” 

“Nope,” Maia and Becky say in unison, and Izzy groans for the millionth time.

“I’m leaving,” Izzy says. “Bye.” And she really does, out the door in the next second.

Maia and Becky watch her go together before Becky whips her head around to look at Izzy, brown hair swishing comically in her face. 

“Triplets?” she says, and it takes Maia a second to understand before she’s laughing and nodding, using her free hand to get her phone from her back pocket.

“Izzy and her fiancees Aline and Helen have three adorable little kids, the same age as Andre.” She places the phone between them, flipping to a few photos of the kids and Becky brightens like the sun, cooing and taking her hand from Maia to swipe through the photos.

Maia’s shown her pictures of Andre and Clary before, but not of the triplets or Aline and Helen yet (or Izzy, as today’s meeting clearly shows). And seeing her face change over and over in response to the photos, asking Maia questions about each one, Maia knows it’s rather soon but she really wants Becky to meet her family, to see Clary and Andre and maybe the others later too, in person.

“Gosh,” Becky’s rambling, Maia propping her chin up to watch her with fond eyes. “They’re _ so _ cute, how long have Izzy, Aline, and Helen had them? How old are they? Oh my gosh, look at this one!” she says, showing Maia the screen despite it being Maia’s own photo and phone. 

“You know,” Maia says. “If you adore them so much, you could come over sometime.”

Becky doesn’t stop scrolling, finger swiping then stopping, swiping then stopping every few seconds. “Yeah?” she says, and Maia can tell she hasn’t yet processed the suggestion, so she waits.

Maia watches as Becky’s eyebrows start to raise, as if in slow motion, striking green eyes widening and her head turning to face Maia, looking up from the phone. “Really?” she says. “Yeah?”

Maia smiles, unable to help it. “Yeah,” she says. “Clary’s been dying to meet you. And Andre knows I’ve been seeing someone new.”

“Really?” Becky repeats, so Maia huffs a laugh.

“Really.”

Becky nods, gulping. “Yeah, I’d--” She blinks. “I’d love to,” she says, and it’s so genuine and hesitant that something in Maia’s heart lurches. Here is this woman, always hurtling forward heart first, words spilling out at 80 miles an hour, and she’s averting her eyes from Maia to look at some silly pictures of Maia’s beloved family, after saying something slowly for once, slowly but no less genuine, no less honest, and with no less of her exposed, _ beautiful _ heart.

This-- This, the new beginning, the getting to know someone in this intimate, gorgeous way again, this is what Maia was longing for. _ Becky. _

Something bursts within Maia, great and powerful and awakening, but also slow and simple and beautiful, like a flower starting to bloom next to another already in full blossom, but unlike the quickness of blossoming, both can stick around for much, much longer. Maybe. If life goes in that direction. 

So Maia leans forward, slips the phone away from Becky’s hands to hold them instead, picks up one hand to sweep back the dark brown locks, and kisses her. 

There’s a bundle of red carnations set aside under the counter for later, for Maia to tuck in the long dark hair behind Becky’s ear, an ode to kind of truth Becky carries herself with and a small promise for Maia to try and show her truth the same way.

But that’s for later today, when their lips part and Becky has to get back to work. They’re not quite there yet.

-

Becky looks at Maia, because if she spends any longer staring at the dark wood door in front of her, she’s going to be sick.

Maia, who has one hand tangled in Becky’s as she uses the other to unlock the door. Maia, who spent all of yesterday at Becky’s apartment braiding flowers (red poppies, white and blue hyacinth, dandelions) into her hair, talking and laughing and lounging on Becky’s bed, looking at her with so much fondness in her eyes that Becky’s chest tightened. Maia, who Becky woke up to this morning lying in front of her, just watching her with something happy in her eyes, dark windows to her heart swirling green in the morning light. Maia, who is bringing Becky to her family because she _ wants _to, something Becky hasn’t quite gotten used to yet, this blossoming want and playfulness between them.

The lock clicks and Maia pushes the door open, tugging Becky inside as she retracts her key.

“I’m home!” Maia calls, and Becky looks around the entry way. It’s warm, set in wood that reflects orange under the yellow light above them. There’s a coat rack in the corner, looking almost weighed down by the number of items on its hooks, and a small smile comes to Becky’s lips at the sight of a tiny puffer jacket exactly matching two bigger ones in design.

“Momma?” A voice comes from down the hall and Becky turns, something in her torso melting at the sight of the brown, chubby face she’s seen in photos so many times. Andre walks over with grabby hands, paying Becky no mind as he retrieves a hug from Maia, harrumphing in satisfaction when Maia picks him up. 

And oh, if that isn’t the most adorable sight, Maia holding her kid with a personality almost too big for his tiny body in her arms, planting a kiss on his head and bouncing him. 

“Andre,” Maia says, breaking Maia out of her reverie. “This is my girlfriend, Becky.” Maia turns her head toward Becky. “And Becky, this is my kid,” and at this point, both Becky and Maia’s grins are positively ear-splitting, Maia looking so self-satisfied and happy to have brought Becky over. “Andre,” she finishes.

Andre looks for a minute before bluntly blurting out, “What do I call you?” he turns to Maia. “Momma, what do I call her?”

Maia looks at Becky so Becky shrugs and addresses Andre. “Whatever you want,” she says.

Andre stares at her for a minute before turning back to Maia. “She’s not very helpful,” he says, and Becky bursts into laughter, Maia chuckling too.

“No, she’s not,” Maia says, and Becky glares at her accusingly. 

“Hey,” she says, before turning back to Andre. “Well, what do you call Isabelle?”

A strange expression comes onto Andre’s face for a few seconds before recognition seems to dawn and he looks at Becky weirdly. “Izzy, duh,” he says. “Who calls her _ Isabelle? _”

“Hey,” Maia says. “Do we need to work on your manners, Andre?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Becky says, laughing a little, right as Andre interjects.

“She’s your _ girlfriend, _” Andre says. “She should be able to take it.” 

Becky laughs as Maia says, “Okay, who taught you to say things like that?”

Andre looks like the most tired 7-year-old in the world as he responds. “You and Mommy.”

Maia gapes and Becky just laughs harder. 

“You’re a sassy one, aren’t you?” Becky says to Andre.

“Don’t joke with me,” Andre says, with all the authority he can while his mom is cradling his tiny butt. “I haven’t decided to like you yet.”

Maia shakes her head. “I’m going to have a _ talk _ with Andre here later,” she says pointedly. “But in the mean time you should come in, make yourself at home. You don’t need to take your shoes off.”

Becky follows Maia and Andre into the house and Maia shows her around, leading her through the rooms and corridors. Somewhere along the way Maia puts Andre down and he runs off to get back to a book, prompting Becky to chuckle.

“He’s just like you, isn’t he?” Becky says, laughter in her voice as she gazes at her girlfriend.

Maia looks at her, pausing in her backstory of some item on the mantle. She blinks, turning to look at Andre sprawled across the couch with awful posture, deep in a chapter book. Becky watches with warmth in her chest as Maia’s face softens. 

“He really is,” says a voice before Maia can respond, and Becky turns to see a person with with long, wavy ginger hair and bangs, hazel eyes sparkling under long lashes. “I’m Clary, we haven’t been introduced.”

“Becky,” Becky responds, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you.

“Likewise,” Clary says. Then, Becky can’t help but to watch disbelievingly as Clary turns her head toward Maia, unsubtly whispering loudly, “_ She’s hot. _”

Maia groans in front of her, turning toward Becky and saying desperately, “Please, ignore my wife.” She straightens suddenly. “Oh, why don’t we take Andre out for ice cream? _ Without _ Clary.”

“Hey!” Clary protests, slapping Maia’s arm. “I like ice cream too.”

Maia looks at her. “You’re being excluded because you’re embarrassing, love, not because I question your love of ice cream.”

“I mean,” Becky interjects. “If this is about the hotness comment, I’m certainly not complaining.” Maia groans again, so Becky just grins teasingly and continues, looking at Clary as she beams. “And for the record, Clary’s not bad either.”

“Children,” Maia says. “There are _ children _ in the vicinity. Specifically, one child. _ My _ child.” She turns to Clary. “ _ Your _ child.”

Clary shrugs and pouts. “It’s not the worst thing he’s heard,” she says, and Becky guffaws. “Plus,” Clary says. “He’s like you. He’s not gonna look up from that book any time soon, no matter what.”

“I heard something about ice cream,” Andre calls from the other room, and Maia glares at Clary pointedly.

Clary just rolls her eyes and looks toward the couch. Looking satisfied in her assessment, she turns back to Maia. “He didn’t look up, so I’m still right.” She looks towards Becky. “Right, Becky? Clearly, I know Andre better than _ anyone. _” She tilts her chin towards Maia with emphasis and Maia rolls her eyes.

“She’s just mad that Andre called me the favorite parent while I was at your place last night,” Maia says matter-of-factly, and Becky chuckles.

“Am I getting ice cream or not?” Andre yells again.

“Inside voices,” Maia yells back, equally loud.

“Am I getting ice cream or not?” Andre says, barely half a decibel quieter.

“Try switching up the wording,” Clary says, and Becky can practically hear Andre’s eye roll.

“Will _ we _ be getting ice cream or not?”

“Better,” Clary says, grinning. “And yes.” They all start to walk over to the living room where Andre is still nose deep in his book.

“Hm,” Andre says, not even looking up. “Mommy’s my favorite now.”

Clary shouts in triumph and Becky laughs as Maia’s face distorts, curling into a glare as she pounces on the couch, pinning him down. “You two-faced little weasel,” she says accusingly, and Andre glares back at her with as much calm as he can given his size and compromising position.

“If you tickle me,” he says in his tiny, extremely threatening 7-year-old voice. “Mommy is going to be my favorite for a whole nother day.”

Becky watches with amusement as the two stare each other down for a full second before Maia chooses no-mercy and goes to town, attacking Andre’s sides.

Clary sighs next to her and Becky turns. “Kids,” she says, mock-tiredly and looking back at Becky. She shakes her head and sighs.

Becky laughs. “I think they’re cute,” she says.

“Oh, they definitely are,” Clary assures her. “They’re also a little ridiculous, though.”

Becky squints at her. “A little?”

Clary laughs and pulls her arm, tugging her over to tackle the fight raging on the couch, wrestling them all into one big uncomfortable, happy cuddle pile. Maia and Andre yell out in protest, but it’s too late.

It’s strange. In letting Becky meet her family, Maia may have accidentally let her into it.

Perhaps more strangely, or perhaps unstrange at all now that Becky’s met them, it’s the one of most welcome accidents they could’ve made.

-

“I have something for you,” Maia says one evening, and Becky chuckles nervously.

“I do too,” she says.

They’re sat on the rickety stools behind the counter in Taki Blossoms, glasses of cranberry juice between them as the sun finishes setting behind the shop. It’s summer now and the days are longer, the shop having closed hours ago despite the lightness still lingering in the sky. It’s almost a shame, Maia thinks, because the colors blooming and fading across the sky look so gorgeous next to the flowers in the shop, and the whole picture is one of Maia’s favorite backdrops to Becky’s eyes and lips and hair and _ everything. _

Maia gets up from her stool, feeling Becky’s eyes follow her as she moves to the back room to retrieve a bundle of flowers, hesitantly coming back and sitting in front of Becky.

“It’s, well,” she says, laughing a little. “It’s multiple things, actually.”

Becky laughs. “I can see that,” she says, and she leans forward and kisses Maia, easing her nerves. When their lips have parted, Maia feels Becky’s hand on hers in comfort and she smiles.

She almost blurts the words right then and there, but the flowers in her lap stop her, reminding her of all she needs to say first.

Her choice of blossoms have already caught Becky’s eye, and she slowly takes her hand from Becky’s to pick a few of them up. 

“Pink camellias,” Becky says, and Maia nods, still nervous, but determined too.

“When I picked one in your shop, the first time,” Maia starts. “You asked me who the subject was.” Becky doesn’t say anything, but her fingers brush along Maia’s knee, and Maia continues. “You’ve probably figured out by now that, perhaps unconsciously, they were you,” she says, and Becky chuckles a little.

There’s a pause, and Maia loses her thoughts for a second. “I want another kiss,” she whispers between them, so Becky leans forward and brushes their lips together, opening them gently until Maia remembers why she started this, what she needs Becky to know.

Maia smiles against Becky’s lips and Becky pulls back.

“Good?” she asks, and Maia nods.

“Thank you,” she says, and Becky only shakes her head on a small smile and continues brushing her hand across Maia’s knee. “But,” Maia says, finding her train of thought again. “You weren’t the only subject of my longing.” She breathes, continues. “It’s not so much a specific person that I wanted, but maybe,” Maia shakes her head, getting there. “A new beginning. To fall in love again.” And there she goes, implying what hasn’t been said yet, but she’s _ getting _ there. “It’s not like Clary isn’t enough, or wasn’t enough, because she’s always been more than I could’ve ever wanted. But, I guess I’d been… Holding myself back. It’s not that I wanted someone other than Clary, it’s that each time I had started wanting, I hadn’t let myself go for it. And all that built up into… longing.”

Maia looks up then, locking eyes with Becky. And what she sees there, it’s just honesty and listening and a willingness, a _ wanting _ to be here with Maia right now, and _ oh, yes, _ this is it, this is the reward for being vulnerable.

Maia laughs wetly and looks down at her lap again, at the flowers and at Becky’s hand. “I talked to Clary, if you’re wondering. And it’s, it’s really good. I’m getting better, more sure that it’s okay to go for the things I want. That it doesn’t undermine the worth or the importance of the things I already have.” She swallows, and looks toward Becky again. “I just,” she shakes her head, shrugs. “I just needed to tell you that, for you to know from me, before I tell you something else.”

It’s as evident as the trust in Maia’s voice to both of them what that something else is, but Becky doesn’t pay it mind yet, not when Maia’s just let her know something so important, so deep within her.

“Maia,” she says, and it’s so reverent, so purposeful, so _ awed. _ She leans forward, cupping Maia’s face and kissing her again, as if she can’t help it, and Maia tastes cranberries and she tastes Becky. In this moment, that’s all she needs in response. 

“Maia,” Becky says again as she pulls away. “Thank you for telling me,” she says first, and then she’s the one looking down, grasping for words to encompass the moment between them. “I,” she pauses, gapes. “Thank you for trusting me with this.”

Maia smiles into the hands still on her cheeks, bringing them down so she can hold them with one hand as she uses the other to pull back Becky’s hair. Then, she takes another flower from her lap, hidden among the camellias. She slips it into Becky’s hair, behind her ear as always.

A pink rose. ‘Please believe me.’

Becky smiles, asks even though she knows what Maia will say next. “What do you want me to believe?”

Maia takes the camellias off her lap, pulls Becky closer so she can tell it between them. “I love you,” Maia says, and oh, Becky believed it long before she said it.

“Well,” Becky says, green eyes blinking rather quickly. “Somehow I guess I anticipated this happening.” She reaches to her bag, where a flower is fastened by a string.

She takes the flower, a pretty coral blossom with thick, curling petals splayed wide as the openness she carries her heart with. Becky takes Maia’s hands and presses the ambrosia flower into them, giving her the symbol along with her confession, “I love you too.”

Placed only a few feet away from the lovers, in a cube-shaped display that still hasn’t been changed, are a collection of purple roses, lavender and deep purple, love at first sight and lasting love. Maybe neither are true of the two of them, maybe both are. Either way, they spend the rest of the night kissing and sharing more confessions, all of them true as the pink camellia and the calla lily and the variegated tulip and the viscarias and the red carnations.

And finally, _ beautifully, _ it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> maia screwed me up multiple times while i was writing because she! kept kissing people! and derailing! my plot plans!


End file.
